


On The Campaign Trial

by HighQueenMargot



Series: Quackity/JSchlatt Works [2]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: 2020 L'Manberg Election on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Alternate Reality, American Politics, Angst, Elections, Fluff, Gay, M/M, Politics, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:48:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28928301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HighQueenMargot/pseuds/HighQueenMargot
Summary: It all starts when VP candidate Quackity and President candidate JSchlatt have to share a room and neither have the energy to argue about sleeping on a chair when a perfectly good bed is right there.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity/Jschlatt
Series: Quackity/JSchlatt Works [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2144286
Comments: 12
Kudos: 235





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all back again with some shitty writing. Let me know what you think, I would appreciate feedback or general compliments because I need that positivity to keep writing! I do not ship Quackity and JSchlatt as real people, only their online personas. 
> 
> Cheers,  
> HQM

Quackity was tired. Drop to the floor and sleep on the ground tired. After several weeks on the campaign trail, every day felt like a struggle. It was no wonder that he was so sleepy given that he had given multiple high energy speeches today. Even as a vice-president candidate, there was always work to be done. At least tonight he could sleep in a bed instead of the official Schlatt2020 bus. Speaking of the bus, he lurched off and towards the bright lights of the San Diego Hyatt. As he got closer, he heard several heated voices, one familiar and one unfamiliar.

“Sir, I’m sorry but there is nothing we can do! We only have one room left, you can take it or leave it.” Quackity walked through the doors and noticed a hotel employee arguing with his other half. Other half of the ballot, that was. Jay Schlatt towered over the poor girl, but there was a weight on his shoulders that suggested he was as tired as, if not more than, Quackity.   
“Fine, we’ll take it.” He grunted, and snatched the key out of her hand. Seeing Quackity, he strolled over and gave a wry smile.  
“Looks like we’re late to the party. Only one room left, roomie.” Quackity sighed and shrugged. He had no more fight in him today. 

They rode the elevator in silence up to the third floor, carrying small duffel bags of toiletries and pajamas. A short walk down the hall and they finally made it into the room where they could rest and relax and-  
Oh no.  
Oh no no no. This would not do. An alarm went off in Quackity’s brain as he looked around the room, frantically looking for a couch, a murphy bed, anything. But the only furniture that looked comfortable to sleep on was a large bed, smack in the middle of the room. Despite his previous outlook, there was no way he was sleeping in a chair tonight. Schlatt looked at him and Quackity saw a faint blush cover his skin. He was probably just embarrassed. That had to be it. Quackity gave another sign of defeat, and resigned himself to the fate of a restless night in an uncomfortable chair. He started to walk towards an overstuffed armchair, but before he could sit down, Schlatt’s bag was thrown onto it. With a huff, Quackity turned around and glared at the tall man.   
“So where am I supposed to sleep then” He asked in annoyance  
“In the bed, obviously. I don’t bite, but I might if you try to cuddle or any of that shit. It’s big enough for the two of us Alex. We’ll be fine.” Schlatt replied. Quackity knew that he meant business when he brought out the first name. Schlatt definitely did not want to be argued with tonight, and Quackity did not want to argue with him. Quackity used the bathroom first, taking a quick shower, changing into a ratty shirt and shorts, and brushing his teeth and hair. Then Schlatt went. Quackity did not know what the protocol was for this. He shifted from foot to foot until he decided that he was too tired to care. He flopped onto the bed, and despite the low mattress quality, it was still a bed and not a chair. He soon drifted off to sleep and was barely conscious when Schlatt exited the bathroom and found him asleep on top of the bed. He briefly registered being lifted up, and then placed gently under the covers. And then something he did not hear at all.  
“Goodnight Quackity.” Schlatt whispered in a low voice, careful not to wake the man. Then he climbed into bed and fell asleep turned away from the other side of the bed.

Quackity was not tired now. Tired is painful and cold. He was now sleepy, which is warm and safe. He felt warm blankets surrounding him, which he did not remember being there at the time of his departure into the land of nod. He also registered someone else in the bed. Quackity was awake now. Did he have another one-night stand? He couldn’t keep doing that, especially not now. Quackity looked over at the man in the bed, and tried to search his memory for the events of last night, but then the man rolled over, now facing him, and everything flooded back. The bus, the argument with the employee, and the sheer awkwardness that followed. But Schlatt looked different. His lips were slightly parted and his hair was far from its normal slicked back look. Schlatt mumbled and reached out to Quackity’s side, where he found nothing. Grumbling, he pulled his arm back and began to softly snore. Quackity watched him for a moment longer, not quite knowing why. Looking at the clock, he saw that there was still an hour until they had to get back on the bus and drive to the next stop. 

Five minutes later, Quackity was standing in line at a coffee shop, ordering breakfast for Schlatt and himself. He didn’t know why he was feeding the other man, they never did things like this for each other. They were running mates purely out of political favor and the fact that Quackity was a second generation immigrant, which really widened Schlatt’s demographics. While waiting for the coffees to be ready, Quackity’s phone rang. It was Schlatt.

“Hey Schlatt, is everything good?”  
“Jesus Quackity don’t leave like that. I didn’t know where you were. At least leave a note.” Quackity swallowed hard and began to blush furiously. This felt awfully domestic to him, and he did not appreciate the feelings it was awakening in him.   
“Sorry Schlatt, I’ll leave a note next time. I was just getting us coffee.” Quackity replied and then froze. ‘Next time’? Would there be a next time? Probably not, but did Quackity want there to be? He was not awake enough to have that conversation. He looked down at his phone, and saw that Schlatt had hung up. ‘Bastard, he’s got no manners’ Quackity thought, grabbing their coffees and walking back the room. When he got there, he swung open the door to a shirtless Schlatt, stretching and rubbing his eyes in the middle of the room. Luckily, Quackity had not been drinking his coffee, because if he had, it would have been all over the floor. Again, way too early. Schlatt took it all in stride, grabbing his coffee from Quackity and taking a sip.  
“Thanks man. How’d you know how I like my coffee anyways?” He asked. Quackity had no answer for that. And he definitely did not have a good answer for the question that came next. With a smile Schlatt said,  
“I was thinking. We’ve got to conserve our campaign funds, so why don’t we just share a bed all the time? It would certainly save us money, and I didn’t mind it. What do you think?” Schlatt had no reason being this way, and Quackity was certain that it would be the death of him. But without thinking, his heart answered for him by uttering one word.  
“Sure.”


	2. Alcohol is the anesthesia by which we endure the operation of life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating sooner. Finals week is a bitch. While writing this I listened to Voulez-Vous by ABBA, would recommend listening while you read. Leave a comment if you enjoy or if you have a request!
> 
> Chapter title is a quote from George Bernard Shaw.

Two weeks had gone bye and nothing had changed. Maybe he was a fool for thinking that something had happened between them that night. Maybe he was an idiot for thinking that Schlatt cared about anything but business. His speeches were convincing alright, but Quackity knew that what he really wanted was power. This did not bother him when it was power over other people. But now it was power over him. 

Schlatt had completely brushed off the conversation that had that fateful morning in lieu of Quackity’s agreement to his proposition. Instead they had moved as they always had. Schlatt being the sun, and Quackity moving around him. In recent days his orbit had slowed down, getting short with Schlatt and snapping whenever he would make a request. The campaign was taxing everyone in his team, and it was no wonder that they were due for a weekend off. Of course, Quackity never got a day off being in the public eye, but all of the speeches and shaking of hands was tiring on the man. They pulled into a motel on the outskirts of Alexandria, MN and went their separate ways. No one wanted to speak after the three weeks of constant speaking. Even the press bus had no questions for him. Schlatt was mysteriously absent though. He had told everyone he was going on a walk when they got there, and no one wanted to have an argument about his safety or image or anything. 

Quackity reclined in his motel room, looking out at the parking lot when he saw a figure stumble into view. ‘What idiot is out at 11:00 alone?’ he thought. But when the person got closer, Quackity saw with disappointment that it was Schlatt. He stood up with a sign and walked outside in his ratty pajamas and robe. There in the parking lot, he spoke,  
“What are you doing man?”  
“Jus havin’ a drink Q. Got a problem with it?” He slurred, tipping over. Quackity stepped forward and caught the man with some difficulty, dragging him closer to the room.   
“Schlatt you need to get inside, what if someone sees you?” He asked.  
“Who wouldn’t want to be seen with you pretty boy” Schlatt protested trying to walk away from the door.   
“You’re drunk Schlatt, sleep it off.” Quackity promptly said, dumping Schlatt on the ground. He clambered up and grabbed Quackity by the wrist.  
“Don’t leave without me, how am I going to get into the room? You’re the only one with a key.”  
“You have your own room Schlatt, sleep there.” But then Quackity remembered that Schlatt went on his “walk” right after getting off the bus. He really didn’t have a room. And there was not way in hell that he was going inside to the receptionist like this. Resigned to his fate, he stormed to the room, leaving the door open. He went into the bathroom to brush his teeth, and when he went back, schlatt was asleep on the bed, still in his suit, face up. With a grumble, Quackity carefully peeling his jacket and shirt off so he would be more comfortable. Glancing down, Quackity was conflicted about the pants. Schlatt would be more comfortable with them off, but would he chastise Quackity for overstepping? Quackity decided to take the risk. He would rather deal with a well-rested Schlatt in the morning. His hands found Schlatts waist, and swiftly unbuttoned the waist, and unzipped the pants. His hands trembled as he slid the pants down Schlatt’s thighs. Suddenly, Schlatt woke up and jolted up into a sitting position. There he saw quackity bending over him, hands on his pants, which were half-way down.   
“Hurry up,” Schlatt said groggily. Face aflame with embarrassment, Quackity nodded and pulled them off the rest of the way. He was so getting chewed out for this. Nervously he looked at Schlatt, who stared back with empty eyes.   
“Are we doing this or not?” Schlatt asked lazily, patting his thigh. Quackity was confused. Extremely confused. When he looked into Schlatt’s eyes, he saw no recognition. Schlatt was black out drunk? Quackity moved closer to try and snap Schlatt out of it, but Schlatt grabbed his wrist again and pulled him on top of his lap.   
“Wh-what are you doing?” Quackity stammered and Schlatt looked him up and down, eyeing him hungrily.   
“Just don’t tell the press baby” Schlatt smirked, leaning. Then their lips connected. Quackity was on fire, burning so hotly that there must have been holes in the sheet. He kissed back hungrily, forgetting that Schlatt was not in his right mind. He wanted this desperately, and he wanted Schlatt to want him too. He pulled back, looking for a green light, but Schlatt just tipped back onto the bed and began to snore. With a gasp, Quackity realized what had happened. This couldn’t have happened. This must have been some sick dream. Some sick game. He looked over at the sleeping man, hypnotized. Shaking his head, he wondered if Schlatt would remember the next morning. He wondered if he would. Hopefully not. With tears in his eyes. He looked over at the bed, deciding to sleep on a chair in the corner instead. It was only fair after he had taken advantage of a drunk man out of his right mind. Quackity did not sleep. He only thought. Thoughts and thoughts and thoughts of what would happen tomorrow. After hours of thinking, he fell into a restless sleep.


	3. An intelligent man is sometimes forced to be drunk to spend time with his fools

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schlatt's POV :0

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title is a quote from Hemingway
> 
> listened to more abba as I wrote this
> 
> let me know what you think or what you would like to see

Schlatt had a killer headache. Like literally he thought it might kill him. He had woken up in an unfamiliar bed with his clothes off, so he had that going for him. When he patted the bed next to him, all he felt was empty space. This was confusing as he had blurry memories of a one night stand. By “memories” he meant that all he could remember was one dynamite kiss. An empty bed could mean many different things, but the worst possibility was that she had left to tell the press how shit of a lay he was. He sighed and sat up, looking around the room. Scanning the premise, he saw his clothes neatly folded on the floor and two suitcases against the wall. Wait- two suitcases? That was unprecedented. Schlatt continued looking around and realized with horror that there was another person in the room. Not just any person, his running mate Alex Quackity. What exactly happened last night? Better get some coffee to clear that head. He hauled himself out of bed and threw on some clothes. Just as he was about to leave, he quickly turned around and scribbled out a note that he left on the table.   
The note read: Alex, gone to get coffee. Be back soon. -Schlatt.

He entered a starbucks and ordered a black coffee and plain bagel.  
“That’ll be $3.25, sir” The barista said. Schlatt began to put his card in the chip reader when he remembered a flash from the previous night. He remembered leaving the bar, drunk as hell, and seeing Quackity in the parking lot. He remembered being difficult and felt a pang of guily.   
“Could you also add an iced coffee and breakfast sandwich?”  
“Of course, your total is $9.34” Schlatt paid and began to walk back to the room. He noticed a smashed bottle on the side of the road, and realized that it was possibly his. He wracked his mind, trying to think of what else happened. He remembered going into the room, and he remembered falling asleep on the bed. And then, it was pretty blank. Except of course, that he knew he had the best kiss of his life. But he couldn’t think of a face to go with it. He remembered soft lips, and a hand in his hair. He remembered a pressure on his lap, and a needy look in someone’s eyes. Dark eyes, like bitter chocolate. A round face. Pale skin and raven hair. Schlatt opened the door back into the room and realized. He had kissed Quackity, and from the looks of it, he was never going to kiss him again. Quackity was facing the door, brows furrowed and nostrils flaring.

“Explain yourself. Now”


End file.
